


Shapes in the Clouds

by a7hena



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 12:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a7hena/pseuds/a7hena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slick and Droog are trapped in the Felt mansion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shapes in the Clouds

"Hey, Slick. Doesn't that cloud look kind of like a dog?" Droog nodded upwards wearily, his arms occupied.  
"Yeah, it does," Slick put his hand on Droog's shoulder and patted it. "And that one looks like a man. An' he's gettin' curb-stomped!"  
Droog laughed, and immediately winced in pain. Slick whipped around to face him.  
"Shit, sorry," he gripped the other man's hand.  
"It's okay. Just don't make me laugh," Droog gripped back.

They spent the next couple minutes commenting on the shapes formed by the tendrils of thick, black smoke which wafted underneath the hunter green door. It wasn't like there was anything else to do. A large beam had collapsed and landed on Droog, pinning both his arms to the floor. Slick lacked the necessary strength to free him.

Their other two mates wouldn't be of much assistance. Deuce was tied up at the moment. Literally. By an irate Doze, who had had quite enough of the Crew's abuse, and, with Itchy's help, had gotten his vengeance at long last. Boxcars was distracted once again by Eggs and his many clones. As soon as Droog was in trouble, Slick had tried to contact them via walkie-talkie. He was met only with muffled, terrified sobs on Deuce's part, and Boxcars' voice was completely drowned out. Furthermore, he had no clue where they were in the mansion. By the time he found them, it would likely be too late.

So he stayed put.

In his usual insubordinate fashion, Droog had ordered Slick to escape, as though he were the one in charge. This time, there was a hint of a plea in his voice. Normally, he would never allow such emotion, such weakness, to mar his deadpan demeanor, but it wasn't like it mattered anymore. Plus, Slick hadn't taken his request to heart until Droog had uttered the magic word. Diamonds Droog wasn't one for begging, so at that, Slick knew he had to take him seriously. He had a loophole, though. As everyone knows, there is no such thing as magic.

He had made a show of tugging at a closed door, the only escape route out of their noxious deathtrap. After a few unsuccessful attempts, he trudged back to Droog, exaggerating the slump in his shoulders.

"Looks like I'm stuck with you," Slick sighed heavily. When Droog bought that, Slick sat down next to him to accept his fate. The remainder of their oxygen was used up on smoke cloud interpretation. When the smoke became too intense, stinging their eyes, they abandoned their activity. Slick crawled over until he was as close to Droog as the beam would allow. Then, with his final bit of strength, said "Fuck it" and hoisted himself onto the beam, ignoring the discomfort it caused.

He felt a light tugging at his pants leg. That was the best Droog could do to hold him. Slick swallowed, feeling a lump in his throat, and traced Droog's fingers with his own. Droog was always so capable; he hated seeing trapped him like this.

"This is all my fault," Slick spoke in hushed tones, for even then, he didn't want to admit failure. "Diamonds-"

Droog clenched Slick's hand as firmly as he could.

"It has been an honor, sir."

Slick cupped Droog's face with his other hand, and leaned in to kiss him. The action wasn't intense; neither of them had the energy for it, but what it lacked in passion, it more than made up for in truth. At the cusp of the kiss, Slick grunted, or maybe it was more of a whine, and pressed his forehead against Droog's.

"Stop that "sir" bullshit," Slick softly growled.

"Not joking around," Droog grinned, referencing his tendency to use the honorific in a sarcastic manner.

"Doesn't matter. Stop it."

Droog was about to protest- he was willing to give Slick the respect he deserved, and he was rejecting it?- until he saw the look in Slick's eyes and understood. In that room, which rapidly became more and more toxic, where, with each passing second, things looked more grim than ever, there was no purpose to appointing rank to each other. They were equally mortal, and the fumes would consume them equally.

Slick reached into his jacket pocket, retrieving a knife.

"I can make this a lot quicker."

Droog shook his head, but not out of fear. He just wanted to maximize his waking moments with his partner. An explanation was not needed; they were on the same wavelength.

In his risky line of work, Slick had frequently contemplated death. He always assumed that his own would be cliché; with his life flashing before his eyes. Instead, all he could focus on was the fact that he was reaching his end in the company of the man he adored.

His final words (which he suspected did not reach Droog's ears): "Am I the unluckiest carapace on Alternia? Or the luckiest?"

There was a solemn stillness in that room afterwards- not that anyone would know. Then came the creak of a doorknob.

"Anyone in here?" Crowbar managed to choke, easily opening the door. There was no answer, but he squinted and made out the bodies. "Huh. Two down, two to go. Now where the hell is Matchsticks?"


End file.
